


let me buy you desire

by agirlnamedfia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedfia/pseuds/agirlnamedfia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't talk about it, is the thing. Stiles goes to the pack meetings flushed and with his heart racing, unable to look anyone in the eye. He knows they're all staring at him curiously —he doesn't even want to think about what a bunch of overcurious wolves can get out of his scent— but Derek is stone-faced and Erica is smirking and they don’t talk about it.</p><p>It's all Scott's fault. All of it. That's Stiles' story and he's sticking to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me buy you desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jazzish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzish/gifts).



> For Jess because we talked this over in such detail that she might as well have co-written it with me. Thank you ever so much for enabling and then helping me, I couldn't have made it through without you, darling. Goes to show that my first posted Teen Wolf fic is 11,000 words of threesome porn and it is _entirely your fault_. Major thank you also to Gin for wrangling my wayward comma usage and generally making this a better story! (All the best bits are hers.) 
> 
> Title misquoted from Jay-Z and Kanye West's No Church In The Wild, which featured very heavily in my writing playlist. I was sure this was the correct lyric and when the Internet told me I was wrong, I used it as a title anyway because it pretty much fits perfectly.
> 
> And lastly: there's a Queer As Folk quote buried in there somewhere, because that show has ruined me for any variation on the sentence "this sucks". I can no longer read it/write it/say it without the appropriate addendum. So that line's not mine! (But it's totally something Stiles would say.)

I.

They don't talk about it, is the thing. Stiles goes to the pack meetings flushed and with his heart racing, unable to look anyone in the eye. He knows they're all staring at him curiously —he doesn't even want to think about what a bunch of overcurious wolves can get out of his scent— but Derek is stone-faced and Erica is smirking and _they don’t talk about it_. 

It's a new experience for Stiles; he's yet to find a topic that he can't talk his way through, embarrassment optional though usually included, but this is different. He's not even sure he wants to talk about it, because really, what would he say?

It's all Scott's fault. All of it. That's Stiles' story and he's sticking to it.

*

Stiles doesn't even flinch when Scott swings himself in the seat across the table. Wolfy senses or not, he’s pretty sure Scott McCall approaching is always going to sound like a thundering herd of elephants.

"Dude," Scott says, his face pinched uncomfortably. "I think Derek and Erica are..."

He trails off, and Stiles pauses expectantly. "Derek and Erica are... what?"

"Um." Scott blushes. "Doing it?"

"Doing it? Doing what? What are you talking—" Scott shifts his eyes, looks down, and Stiles gets it. "Ohhhhh," he says, "Right. Uh." 

"I saw them in the parking lot this morning and they were all handsy and. Uh. They smelled like each other. And like—"

Scott stops, and Stiles raises his eyebrows, grinning. "Like sex?" Scott twitches and Stiles can't help a snort. "Dude, you can wax poetic about sex in relation to Allison, but when it comes to other people, you can't even say it?"

"Not when it's in relation to Derek! And Erica!"

Stiles shrugs. "Whatever, man, their lives, their choice. We'll drop by a few condoms on our way out, cover up, be safe kids, etcetera." 

Scott shudders. "Please stop talking."

"Hey, you're the one that brought it up."

"Yeah, and I'm already regretting it. Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure, whatever," Stiles shrugs, gathering up his things and dumping them on the tray. "Did you do the reading for Chem?"

"No," Scott groans, "and Mr. Harris is probably going to skin me alive for it. Did you?"

"No, I—" Stiles pauses. "Wait, does that mean Erica is, like. Your wolfy mother now? Or would it be step mother? Foster mom?"

He doesn't quite bounce off the walls when Scott shoves him, but it's a near thing.

*

And that's that. Or at least, it should be.

Except the next time Scott and Stiles cross paths with Erica at school, Scott, the idiot that he is, immediately gives everything away by freezing and flushing and basically looking anywhere but at Erica. Stiles groans inwardly, trying to keep his expression neutral when Erica stops and her eyes dart between the two of them curiously. She sniffs for a second —and seriously, Stiles needs to send out that Beacon Hills Werewolf Newsletter ASAP, and the first headline will be "Stop Sniffing People, It's Gross!"—, before comprehension dawns and a truly wicked smile spreads over her face.

Stiles has seen wicked smiles, okay, he's been in close contact with Peter and Derek Hale, but this... This is on a whole other level.

He sighs deeply when she brushes by them without saying anything, somehow still managing to slide up against Scott almost bodily.

"Jesus, Scott, what was that?"

"I can't help it!" Scott protests, "it's just. It's weird, okay, she's got the scent of the Alpha all over her and around her and she's broadcasting it, and it's just really, really weird?"

Stiles looks at him for a second. "Never play poker," he eventually settles on. "No, seriously, never ever. You have the worst poker face in the history of time. It's worse than mine, and that, my friend, is saying something."

So Stiles knows and Scott knows and Erica knows that they know, which presumably means that Derek also knows that they know. Stiles is pretty sure that the rest of the pack knows too, because if Scott can smell it, there's no way the others can't. It's a veritable cornucopia of knowing, really, and Stiles tries not to think about it too much because… Well, maybe Scott's right; maybe it's a little weird.

Except for some reason, at times it's all he can think about. Not the specifics, it's not like he's fantasizing about it or anything. Not usually. For the most part. But Erica always leers when she catches him looking, and Derek, well. Derek isn't usually looking at Stiles, which means Stiles can look at Derek and see how he treats people. How he holds himself, how he moves, how he looks. The expression on his face when he talks to the pack. When he talks to Erica.

Okay, maybe he's fantasizing about it a little, whatever, he's a teenager and Erica and Derek are both out-of-this-world levels of hot, okay, it's hard not to think about it sometimes.

And that's fine, that's great. At least until Allison finds something about the alpha pack in the bestiary and she tells Lydia, who tells Jackson, who tells Scott, who tells Stiles. It's like the world's most fucked up game of Telephone and Stiles would be impressed the message made it through intact, if it wasn't 'Please drive to the old train depot and tell Derek.’ 

"No," Stiles says. "No fucking way, absolutely not."

Scott cranks up the puppy eyes from where he's crouched half in the window, half on the roof, and Stiles seriously needs new friends. New friends who actually use doors instead of leaving claw marks all over his window frame, which, really subtle, guys. 

"You have to," Scott says, a vaguely pleading look on his face, "Allison says it's really important that Derek knows."

"Then she can go tell him!"

"You know she can't go anywhere near Derek or the depot, her dad’s watching her like a hawk!"

"Jackson or Lydia can do it."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Lydia said they have plans. Besides, Derek still doesn’t trust her, you know that."

"Oh, but he trusts me? Please," Stiles scoffs. "He trusts me about as far as he can throw me. Which, admittedly, is pretty far, but that's besides the point because _I'm not going_."

"Stiles, come on, please. I have to go pick up my Mom from work, you know Lydia and Jackson can't, Boyd and Isaac have disappeared off somewhere, I can’t reach Erica, and Allison is not getting away from her family tonight. You're the only one who can, please just go before your Dad gets home?" Scott practically begs, which Stiles is ninety percent sure has less to do with picking up his Mom and more with being able to sneak in and see Allison later tonight.

He groans, dropping his hands in defeat. "Fine, but you owe me. Again."

Scott grins at him. "Yeah, I know, I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"That's what you said last time. And the time before that."

"I'm serious this time! Now, here, this is what Allison said to tell him, I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget."

Stiles snorts fondly. "Of course you did."

Which is how Stiles finds himself parking the Jeep in a secluded, dark alley around the corner from the old train depot, grumbling to himself about best friends who suck. A lot. And not in a positive, life-affirming way. He's not actually pissed at Scott, though. Someone needs to get this information to Derek, whatever. But every once in a while it'd be nice if people didn't automatically assume he'd do it because he couldn’t possibly have anything better to do on a Friday night.

Maybe it's because he's borderline annoyed, maybe it's because it's dark, or maybe it's just because he's Stiles, but either way, he doesn't notice the debris until there's an inconvenient piece of concrete on the stairs and he nearly breaks his neck, tripping down. Looking around, he doesn't catch his breath so much as all the air leaves his lungs in one push and his stomach sinks down to his knees. 

The warehouse is wrecked. It's not neat on the best of days but right now, Stiles can see shredded wooden barrels, tables and chairs that are splintered into a thousand pieces and there's a fist-shaped hole in the wall in front of the stairs, concrete and plaster spread out chaotically around it.

He tramples his first instinct to call out to Derek because whomever is here, the last thing he needs to do is alert them to the fragile human that just stepped into their midst. He's just about to step down from the stairs quietly when there's a loud, angry growl echoing out of the train carriage. It's followed by a series of hissing, spitting and grunting noises. Really, Stiles can pretty much list all the sounds that come with a fight and then some. 

He ducks down behind the overturned couch and scrambles closer to the carriage, trying to get clues from the noise. He's fumbled his phone out of his pocket, ready to call in reinforcements, when there's a dull thump, a roar and then two bodies come flying through the doors of the carriage, steel groaning and glass splintering everywhere.

And apparently Stiles is not as good at recognizing fights as he thinks he is, because he immediately recognizes the two figures as Derek and, oh God, Erica. The building shudders when they hit the concrete wall under the stairs and Stiles sucks in a breath, instinctively biting his lip to stop himself from making a sound.

His feeble hopes for a third party to come out of the carriage are crushed when Derek presses Erica against the wall, her arms spread wide and her legs parted by the thigh he shoves between them. She smirks at him and even from halfway across the room, Stiles can hear Derek's deep breaths. They stare at each other for half a second, and then Derek lets go of her hands the same time that Erica surges forward and crushes their mouths together.

Behind the couch Stiles stifles another whimper. It's not like he didn't have an idea where this was going, Erica's leer and Scott's uncomfortable face flashing through his head, but they're right under the fucking stairs and there's no other way out. Stiles sinks down and puts his phone away, trying to figure out the best time to get up and announce to them that in their, uh, enthusiasm, they might have missed there’s another person present.

Except when he shuffles to the gap between the couch and a nearby table, risking a quick look to see if by any chance or lucky miracle, they’ve stopped; Erica's heavy-lidded eyes are looking right at him.

She's still pressed up against the wall, fingers digging into Derek's shoulders and hips canted unmistakably forward. Her back's arched and Derek’s mouth is on her neck now, sucking or biting, Stiles can't tell and doesn't really know if he wants to. And she's staring straight at him, eyes dark and smug. 

Stiles stops breathing, can feel the weight of her gaze on him, pinning him into place. Erica's smirk widens for a breath of a second, and then she flexes her arms out of Derek's grip, wraps her legs around his hips and sinks her teeth unapologetically into the Alpha's neck.

Stiles sucks in a breath but it's lost in Derek's howl of rage. His hand sneaks out, his fingers tangle in her curls and with a sharp twist, Derek pulls her head back by the hair, baring her throat to him.

"No," he growls, and Erica whimpers and grinds up against him. Even from a distance Stiles can tell that for every bit of pain she's feeling, she's enjoying it just as much.

Derek spreads her out slowly, grabbing her wrists and pushing them farther and farther away from her torso until she's strung tight like a bow, arched away from the wall and grinding helplessly down on the thigh he's got pressed between her legs again. Erica's the one panting now, helpless little moans and whimpers that go straight to Stiles' dick. 

Derek chuckles lightly, licking a stripe up her cleavage. "Look at you," he says, his voice low, "spread out and wanting." Erica groans when he bends his head and noses down her neck and into the V between her breasts. “Do you like it when it hurts, Erica?"

Erica gasps and squeezes her eyes closed. "Fuck," she groans out hoarsely, "Fuck yes." She whines when Derek abruptly lets go, falling and slamming her head against the wall hard. Stiles is briefly concerned he heard something crack but before he can even think to do anything, say anything, _look away_ , Derek's spun them around, her back against his chest and his back propped up against the wall.

Erica's head has fallen back on Derek's shoulder and she's biting her lip and still, always, sporting that infuriating smirk. "You going to punish me?" she murmurs. "Put me in my place?"

Derek growls again, and this time Stiles has a clear view of his teeth sinking into her shoulder as well as, Jesus Christ, his hand disappearing under the hem of the indecently short skirt that Erica had already rucked up most of the way. She cries out immediately and while Stiles can't see much of anything from this distance and in this light, he doesn't need to see to know exactly what Derek's hand is doing down there. 

Erica is writhing soon enough, her body wracking with tremors he can tell she has no control over, and her hands clutch Derek’s forearms while he whispers in her ear. Her eyes are closed and her lip is swollen from biting down forcefully. Stiles can't tear his eyes away from the sight. He's hard and his breathing had gone from normal to labored back when Erica had first laid eyes on him.

Derek is still talking too low for Stiles to hear, while his other hand has torn off most of her shirt, exposing her breasts. He plays with her nipples, one after the other, alternating rubbing and twisting, teasing Erica until she's almost losing her mind.

It doesn't take long to make her beg, her hips stuttering in sync with Derek's ministrations. "Please," she almost sobs, voice catching on the words, "Derek, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please!"

This time Derek's growl is not anger, but pure pleasure. Stiles watches wide-eyed as Derek switches their positions again, guiding Erica's hands to his groin. He grunts in pleasure when she curls her hand over the obvious bulge, and Stiles expects her to smirk again, but she doesn't. She's not even smiling, she looks.... Stiles swallows. She looks eager and debauched and damn near hungry, and when Derek steps out of his jeans and boxers and crowds her up against the wall once more, she's breathing heavily.

"Turn around," he bites out and Stiles can see Erica shudder before turning neatly and plastering herself against the wall. "Good girl," Derek says approvingly, trailing his hand down her back and underneath her skirt.

Within seconds Erica's trembling again, thrusting down in time with Derek's upwards hand motions. Fucking herself on his fingers, Stiles realizes, suppressing a moan when the thought flashes through him like pure heat.

"Derek," she groans, "Come on, please, fuck me already."

Derek's hand tangles in her hair again, pulling it down slowly. He's mouthing at her ear when she cries out violently, half pain, half mind-blowing pleasure. "Don't," he says slowly, "tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not— fuck, I'm not telling," Erica babbles. "I'm asking. I'm, ahh— I'm begging here, Derek. Please."

Stiles can't see it, he can't see anything but the back of Derek's head and body, but even so, he knows Derek's the one smirking now. And then, in the blink of an eye, Derek has gone from plastered over Erica's back to fucking her up against the wall. Stiles has to bite his lip and doesn't know where to look first, the flexing muscles of Derek's ass, or the way Erica's head is thrown back and she's moving and moaning in time with the thrusts.

Stiles realizes her claws are out when her arm shoots out and punches another dent in the wall, dust and concrete falling from the scratches she leaves behind. Derek is growling under his breath and his hands, where they're clenched on Erica's hips, look completely, one hundred percent human.

"Fuck, fuck, oh God, Derek," Erica's shouting now, not even bothering to keep her voice down. Stiles can't really blame her; it's not like anybody but them is around. Derek's mouthing the back of her neck, and from this angle, Stiles can see her shoulders are covered in teeth marks and bruises in various stages of fading. Derek's marking her and Stiles shouldn't be surprised and turned on, but he is. And above all that, above everything he's feeling right now, is raging and helpless jealousy. 

He grinds the heel of his hand into his jeans at the same time that Derek picks up the pace and Erica almost starts howling. Derek's hands are white-knuckled on her hips, will probably leave small, finger-sized bruises that'll be gone within moments. 

Erica shudders again and when one of Derek's hands disappears from her hip and slithers between her thighs, she lets out one last cry, hands slamming into the wall, and thrashes through her orgasm. Derek is only a few strokes behind her, his grunts getting louder and louder before turning into one, drawn-out shout.

Stiles sinks back behind the couch instinctively, breathing hard and not even bothering to keep it down. He can barely spare the brainpower to stop himself from shoving his hands down his own jeans. There's a few moments of quiet in the room, before he hears the slick sounds of skin sliding and the rustling of clothes being pulled back into place.

"That," Erica says slyly, still panting a little, "was hot." Derek snorts, and even though he's not looking, Stiles can see the raised eyebrow in his minds' eye. "Fuck, you totally wrecked my shirt, though," she continues, pouting. 

Stiles peeks around the couch in time to see Derek's gesture towards the rooms off the side. "You can borrow one of mine." He pauses, looking at her intently. "You okay?"

They're lying on the ground, only slightly more presentable than before. Erica's head is pillowed on Derek's thigh and she smiles slightly, genuinely, butting her head into his hipbone. "I'm fine, Derek."

Derek sucks in a breath and gets up slowly. "I'll go get you that shirt," he says, and Erica grins. "I'd let you pick one yourself but last time you gave it back trashed."

"That was totally Isaac's fault!"

"Yeah, yeah," Derek tosses out, already walking away. "Spin it to someone who cares.”

He's already in the other room when Erica slowly sits up and looks in Stiles' direction. He freezes like a deer caught in headlights, having stupidly thought she'd forgotten all about him, and prepares himself for the worst. But Erica just looks at him for a few moments, half thoughtful, half some other unidentifiable emotion. Stiles can feel his face getting redder and redder, and just when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, she laughs under her breath, winks, and scrambles up to follow Derek. 

* 

Stiles tries to get out of pack meeting on Sunday, he really does. Scott even lets him get away with it. It’s probably his way of making up for sticking Stiles with the dirty work again, but it's still appreciated. Stiles isn't stupid; he knows that Scott can pick up a lot more from his scent than from his distinctly odd (okay, more odd) behavior, so he has to know something... happened. But he doesn't breathe a word. He just looks at Stiles curiously, cocks his head, and shrugs.

"Okay, but you know Derek's not going to let you get away with it, right?"

Stiles laughs, and if it's a little high-pitched at the mention of Derek (Derek who had been— and with Erica, and who'd _known_ Stiles was there, he must have known, Christ, Stiles really needs to stop thinking about this), Scott's nice enough not to mention it. "Derek? No, come on, dude, you know Derek hates me, he'll be glad to have me gone. Look, you're running late, you should go, no really. You should. You should go. To the pack meeting. Without me."

Only half an hour after Scott scrambles down Stiles' roof, Derek's Camaro screeches to a halt in front of the house. Stiles groans silently to himself, because he’d had hopes that he'd get out of this situation unscathed, okay, he had. But clearly they're being quashed little by little. He looks out the window just in time to see stilettos and messy blonde hair exiting the driver's side and gulps.

Stiles has never been outside on the sidewalk faster in his life. He thinks his feet might actually skid on the pavement a little, and he only narrowly avoids toppling over and braining himself on the hood of Derek's car.

He doesn't want to go, he really doesn't. But he wants Erica to come get him in the house even less. Much, much less. 

She raises an eyebrow at him and Stiles... Stiles curses inwardly and, despite his best efforts, blushes. He hasn't seen her since— well, since, and he's man enough to admit that yes, his heart is racing and his palms are more than a little sweaty and he has no illusions about being able to hide either facts from her. Erica has scared the shit out of him on a daily basis since she was turned, but now it's different. It feels like they're still playing some kind of game, but it's a whole other ballgame and he's even less likely to come out on top.

"Can we just—" his voice squeaks and Stiles closes his eyes. Wow, the universe must really have it in for him. He clears his throat. "Can we just go? I don't need the lecture."

"Oh, I'm not going to lecture you," she says slowly, grinning, and Stiles swallows compulsively even though his mouth is approaching desert-like levels of dry. He fumbles with the door and then with the seatbelt, determinedly not looking at her and trying to squash the need to bang his head against the dashboard repeatedly.

Erica chuckles, but starts the car without comment and it takes Stiles most of the ride to realize that she's not saying anything. In his defense, he's pretty busy fearing for his life every time she takes a corner at high speed, because holy shit, her driving could kill someone way before she ever got into an accident. Still, it's not the Erica he's come to know and fear.

But a few discreet, sideways glances reveal nothing in her face but amusement and clean old fun at risking people's lives in a non-supernatural way. Stiles breathes a little easier for it, because for all her faults, Erica doesn't bother shying away from things anymore. If she's not going to mention it, maybe Derek's not going to mention it. 

Maybe Stiles will finally catch a break for the first time in oh, say, months, and this is just going to turn into one of those things they all pretend never happened. Maybe they'll laugh about it in a few years. 

Of course, that's when Erica screeches the car into one of the darkened bays of the depot and slides out of her seat. Stiles is still catching his breath and trying to pry his fingers off the door handle when she turns around and bends over, looking at him with a truly filthy grin.

"We're here, Stiles," she says, her voice husky. "Are you—" She stops and Stiles almost shudders, instantly knows what she's going to say, "—coming?"

She sashays away before he can reply, turning around just before going in and smirking at him. This time, Stiles doesn't even bother trying to stop himself from thunking his head against the dashboard.

He doesn't know what she’s playing at or hoping to achieve, but nonetheless, he's sure that he is so completely and entirely fucked.

*

And the worst part, Stiles will honestly admit, the complete and utter shitty part is that despite the embarrassment and the fact that the pack is always looking at him weirdly these days, and that neither Derek nor Erica ever mention it (by words anyway, but Erica at least manages to convey messages perfectly fine without them), is that Stiles still _can't stop thinking about it_.

 

 

II.

In a move that doesn't surprise Stiles in the least, Scott manages to destroy any best friend points he might have saved up in record time. Stiles would be lying if he said that he hadn't been expecting it, because he might have been. This is Scott, after all. 

But even still, when Scott grabs Stiles by the arm in the cafeteria and leads him away from where Allison is sitting with Jackson, Lydia and Danny to another table, Stiles knows the game is up. And he does the only reasonable thing he can think of in this situation: he tries his very best to distract Scott by deflecting. 

"So heyyyy, how about that Chemistry midterm, right? I gotta tell you, Mr. Harris is brutal. And I really thought he was starting to like us. And by us, I mean me, because he really doesn't like me. Have you noticed that, because it can't be in my head, right?"

"Stiles."

"And all that talk about how I only have half a brain and all that, that can't be good teacherly practice. And in front of the whole class too, that shit is seriously not cool."

"Stiles."

"Wait, is 'teacherly' even a word? Did I just make that up, you think?"

"Stiles!"

Stiles closes his eyes and sighs. Fuck. Mission: failed. "Yes, Scott?"

Scott frowns. "What’s going on?"

"Nothing! Nothing is going on, why do you ask? Are you okay, is something going on with you? Because you can tell me, if there is." Scott doesn't reply, except to fix a stare on Stiles. He has to physically stop himself from deflating. "Look," he says, aiming for honesty, "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong, I swear."

"You're acting really weird. Like even more than usual. Especially around Erica. Did she—" Scott pauses and leans in, lowering his voice. "Did she hurt you?"

For a single second, Stiles can't process anything but the fact that Scott just— Yep, he seriously just said that, in the middle of the cafeteria with at least one but probably more wolves listening in, including Erica, and yeah. Stiles is pretty much ready to sink in the floor now.

"What the fuck, Scott!" he hisses, mortified. "I can't believe you just— What are you— Argh!"

"Well, what do you expect me to think! We're worried about you!"

"Oh, 'we' are, huh? What is this, an intervention?" Scott flushes and Stiles bites back a snap. He means well, he tries to remind himself. He definitely means well. "I'm fine," he says, trying to keep his tone even. "Nothing's wrong, everything's peachy. Now, when you're done insinuating that I can't take care of myself in front off all of our friends, and yes, I know you're all listening, you pervs, I need to get my Bio text from my locker. That okay with you?"

Scott looks away, an apologetic twist to his mouth. "I'm sorry," he says, "Stiles, I..."

"Look, just. Forget it, okay? I'm fine, you're fine, let's just move on and forget this humiliating conversation ever happened." He doesn't give Scott the time to reply, just turns around and leaves the hall, carefully not looking anybody straight in the eye. Fucking werewolves and their fucking super-hearing, now he has to get lunch from a vending machine since he's pretty sure he can't face any of them again today. Possibly not even this week. 

He's just about done digging his Bio text out of his locker while contemplating ways to make Scott pay when he feels someone behind him, sliding closer. He slams his locker shut and wants to turn around and tell whomever it is to, seriously, fuck the hell off, when slim hands curl around his hips and a full-body pressure pushes him forward, into the row of lockers.

Stiles brain might whimper. Maybe. Because of course, of all the days she could have picked, today is the day Erica chooses to finally make good on the promises that she's been giving out with every look and every smirk. 

"Erica," he says resignedly. "How kind of you to join us."

She chuckles, warm breath on his ear, and he can practically feel her lips move against his skin when she talks. "Interesting choice of words, Stiles."

Stiles swallows, and tries to turn around, but as soon as he so much as twitches, her hand flies from his hip to his shoulder, slamming him face-first into his locker. At least, thank God, the halls are deserted, so no one has to see his shame. He stifles a hysterical laugh at the thought of Scott's face if he were to see this scene after the conversation they just had.

"Interesting? I don't know, I don't think there's anything interesting about it, really."

"Hmmmm." Her voice is a distracted hum and Stiles stifles a squeak when her hand drifts lower and lower from his hip, dangerously so, and—

"Okay, stop," he blurts out, "just stop. I know what you're doing, but I already had a talk about bad touches today and I really don't need a demonstration, okay? What do you want, Erica? Besides slamming me into things, which seems to be a universal werewolf hobby, and can I just say how not-down I am with that?"

"What do I want?"

"Yes. Yes, what do you want. Just tell me, threaten me, get it over with, so we can both move on with our lives." And I can go to the bathroom and try to will my hard-on away, he adds privately.

"Do you know," Erica says pensively, "what you smell like right now?"

"Werewolves, seriously. Did anybody ever tell you that the whole smelling people is kind of gross?"

She's laughing at him, he's sure of it, even though he can barely turn his head, let alone see her face. "You smell nervous," she murmurs, "your heart is racing, Stiles. You smell like... A little bit like fear, but most of all? You smell like sex."

Stiles stops breathing. "Erica," he forces out.

"It's a scent I remember. I've smelled it before. Do you know when?"

Stiles nods stiltedly, and Erica huffs out another breath of wicked laughter against his neck. She's nuzzling him, he thinks vaguely, and it shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't but, Christ, it is. "I thought you might. Did you think about us, afterwards, Stiles? Did you think about Derek touching me while you touched yourself?"

Stiles bites his lip to stifle a groan. "Is this," he makes himself say, hoarse voice and all, "is this really the time and place for this conversation, you think?"

Erica makes a point of looking left and right. "Don't worry," she says, "nobody's here to see you. And, well, you never said anything." He can feel her shrug. "Maybe I just got sick of waiting."

"Waiting for what? What was I supposed to say?"

"But that's okay," she continues, "I can talk for the both of us." She presses even closer and Stiles sucks in a desperate breath when he can feel her thigh slipping between his legs slightly, just enough pressure to make him want to push back. "Oh Stiles," she says, "you have no idea. That time in the warehouse, do you remember? Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes," he whispers, and Erica laughs, her voice low.

"He's never come faster," she murmurs in his ear, "than the time he knew you were watching."

It's only through sheer force of will that Stiles keeps his teeth clenched together and doesn't moan in the middle of the hallway. At school. Over lunch. Jesus.

Erica's still talking when his brain tunes back in. "You should have seen him after, Stiles. He couldn't keep his hands off me."

"Why," Stiles croaks out, "why are you telling me this?"

He only gets a moment's silence before Erica's turning him around. "Because I know you want to hear it." She looks him over, from his flushed face and dilated pupils to the fairly obvious bulge in the front of his pants. "Because if just looking does this to you, Stiles, imagine what would happen if you'd… what was the word you used? Join us." She smiles wickedly and Stiles shoves his fist in his mouth and bites down hard, because seriously, he needs something to focus on right now. Something that’s not her expression, the warmth of her body in front of him, the picture her words are forming in his mind.

"Think about it," she says slyly. She chuckles, pressing her open mouth to the curve of his neck and licking it, before finally retreating and walking off down the hall. She doesn't look back, and Stiles releases the air from his lungs and sinks down on the floor of the hallway, slamming his head back against the lockers.

So. completely. fucked.

*

Sometimes, Stiles thinks back to the days when the Alpha wasn't Derek. When Peter Hale was still killing people left, right and center and that was the biggest thing Stiles had to worry about. Well, aside from his Chemistry grade and his dad finding out that Beacon Hills had been overrun by werewolves.

Yeah. Those were the days.

Nowadays, he still has those worries; search and replace Peter Hale with the alpha pack, and on top of that, he has to deal with his friends looking at him like he's about to fall apart and Erica's increasingly dirty touching and innuendo. One of these days his head is going to explode from sensory and emotional input, seriously.

At least, Stiles thinks to himself as he's braced over his History homework, there haven't been any suspicious dead bodies in the last few days. Thank God for small favors.

And because the universe hates him, that's when his phone chirps with a new text from Derek, which reads, typically succinct, _get here now_. 

Well, shit.

*

The depot is dark when Stiles gets there, taking care to hide his car out of sight from the main road. His dad's on the night shift and won't be home till several hours after sunrise, but better safe than sorry.

There's no sound inside, but that's not surprising. Stiles has been the first at emergency pack meetings before, though he chooses not to think about what that says about his driving. He's so busy thinking up scenarios for what shit could possibly have hit the fan this time that he's already at the bottom of the stairs when he realizes nobody's in sight. The lights are dim, no one's sitting in the half-destroyed couches Derek had chosen to furnish his living space with and, he takes a second to listen, it really is pretty damn quiet.

"Derek?" he calls out hesitantly, because seriously, not making that mistake again. 

"In here," comes the reply, from the direction of the bedroom, and. Stiles pauses. Was that Erica?

"...Erica?" 

"In here, Stiles," she replies, a hint of annoyance in her voice and yeah, okay, he's going, he's totally going. Indecent touches or not, Erica's the last person he wants to piss off and—

Stiles' brain stutters to a halt when he rounds the corner, because. Because Derek is on the bed and he's _chained up_ and Stiles only has half a second to gape before Erica pounces from behind, sliding her hands around his torso and keeping him locked into place.

"Stiles," she says smoothly from behind him, "how nice of you to join us."

She's warm and sort of slick. In a distant corner of his brain, Stiles realizes that fuck, she's wearing lingerie, which means she totally planned this. But for the most part he can't tear his eyes away from the bed where Derek is spread out, arms above his head and wrapped in a truly immense chain. Derek's head is raised, eyes trained on the door, on Stiles. He swallows dryly. 

Erica planned this.

How nice of you to join us.

Fuck.

"Erica," Derek growls dangerously, "unchain me. Now."

But she ignores him, pressing up against Stiles still. "I basically gave you an engraved invitation, Stiles," she chastises him, "and you didn't do anything."

"I...I didn't think you, uh. Were serious," Stiles says, blinking and trying to force his brain into some kind of cohesive thought process.

"I figured as much," she replies. "I hope you don't blame me for... nudging things along."

"I think this qualifies as a bit more than nudging."

Erica laughs delightedly. "You're welcome to leave at any point," she smirks, and Stiles refrains from pointing out that she's still, technically, holding him there. He’s not fooling anybody, least of all himself. He still hasn't looked away from the bed, from Derek who's now rattling the chains and aiming a truly impressive glare at Erica.

"Erica," he threatens.

"He's pretty angry with me," she gestures her head in the direction of the bed. "I had to chain him up, or he wouldn't stay and..." she pauses, makes a thoughtful noise, "...play." She nibbles on the side of Stiles' neck and blows hotly on the wet skin. "Do you want to play, Stiles? Or do you want to leave?"

Derek's rattling even more ferociously on the bed now, growling something Stiles can't really make out through the haze in his head. Because all he can think of now is the look on Derek's face two weeks ago when he pulled Erica's head back. And the expression in her features when Derek's hand disappeared between her legs. His mind flashes back to the nights when he was alone in his room, hand on his dick, thinking about a scene very similar to this one. 

"Erica, I swear to God, if you don't undo these—"

"No," Stiles says, surprising himself with how firm his voice sounds. "I don't want to leave."

Erica smiles into his skin and her hands drift down dangerously close to his groin. "I didn't think so."

On the bed Derek has stopped moving, fallen still like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He's not looking at Erica anymore; he's one hundred percent focused on Stiles. He can feel himself flushing under Derek's gaze, can see Derek's nostrils flaring. He doesn't know for sure but he can hazard a guess as to what he must be smelling like right now, and he can see Derek's eyes darkening as he picks up the scent. 

"Stiles," he says hoarsely, but before Stiles can say anything, Erica is insistent behind him, gently but firmly pushing him forward. Stiles would be worried about his and Derek’s consent in this kind of situation, but he’s pretty aware of his own feelings on the matter, and the way Derek is looking at him doesn’t leave much room for doubt either.

"Hmmm," she hums, "you smell so good now, Stiles. So good. Like… Like desire, like sex." Stiles sucks in a breath when she bites down gently, more tongue than teeth but still going straight to his groin. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? How long he's wanted to do this?"

Stiles bites his lip and tries to focus under Derek's hot gaze and Erica's head next to his, low voice and filthy words resonating in his head. "Every time you were around me," she says, "every time you were around either of us, I could smell it on you. I bet you were thinking about us even then, weren't you?"

"Yes," Stiles replies, breathing heavily.

"Mmmm. What else did you think about?" Erica's hand rubs along his side when they reach the corner of the bed and sink down on the mattress. She's close behind, crawling up and trailing her fingers under his t-shirt, zinging over his bare skin. "What else did you think about, Stiles?"

He wants to turn and look at her, but her hand snaps to the back of his head and she forces him to look ahead. At Derek, who hasn't so much as moved since they crawled onto the bed. He's in his boxers, Stiles realizes when he lets his eyes roam away from Derek's hungry gaze, but he might as well be naked, for all the good they're doing to cover anything.

Erica follows his gaze and laughs quietly. "You want to unwrap him? Like a present?"

Stiles swallows compulsively, shuddering every time Erica touches his bare skin. His hand trembles a little when he reaches forward to put it on Derek's hip. His bare hip, Derek's bare hip, fuck, how is this his life?

He's brought back from his thoughts when Erica nips his ear, and he has to suppress a groan. "I—" His voice is shaky, but Derek is, Jesus, staring at him hotly and still not saying a goddamned thing. Stiles grabs on the vestiges of his courage and straddles Derek's thighs, hands trailing down over Derek's chest. He's breathing heavily by now and Stiles knows that if he just leaned forward a little bit, he'd—

"This," he blurts out. "I thought about this."

Erica sidles up behind him, slipping her fingers under his t-shirt and pulling it upwards. "You thought about touching us? Us touching you?" She chuckles when Stiles nods, and slides her hands down his chest, resting just above the waistband of his jeans, her fingers slight pressure points on his skin, hard enough to teeter on the edge of pain. "Sit up on your knees, baby," she murmurs and Stiles can't help himself, he does it instinctively, unable to stop a moan from escaping when she slides her hands under his jeans and in his boxers without warning.

Derek jerks beneath the two of them, wrenching forward, breathing heavily and staring at Stiles like he wants to devour him. Stiles wrenches his eyes open when Erica starts tugging at his clothes, not even aware that he'd closed them, and before he knows it, she's got him back on Derek's legs, his jeans and underwear dropping down the side of the bed.

Stiles flushes when he sees Derek looking and instinctively his hands twitch, years of protective instinct honed into covering himself up.

"No," Derek says at the same time as Erica. She's holding his wrists steady, but Stiles is looking at Derek. "Don't," he says, his voice rough.

Stiles shivers when Erica's tongue touches the side of his neck. "I would drive him crazy, you know," she whispers, "talking about how I could hear your heartbeat that night you watched us. How I could smell how much you wanted it. He loved it." 

He blinks and bites his lip, twisting his hands out of Erica's grip and sliding them forward, over Derek's chest. "I—" Stiles' voice cracks, so he clears his throat and tries again. "I'm going to kiss you now," he says clearly, nervously. "Is that okay?"

Derek doesn't react for a moment and Stiles can feel his heart sinking, but then Derek leans into Stiles' space and their mouths meet in the middle. He can hear Erica laughing behind him but he doesn't care, because Derek angles his head one way and Stiles the other and then it just works.

And it's not like he hasn't thought about this before, because Derek is, well, he's fucking Derek, and okay, maybe the thought had featured more prominently in the last few weeks, but the real thing? God, the real thing is so much better.

Stiles groans and Derek uses the opportunity to lick into his mouth, tongues sliding together. Stiles is not an expert kisser, but he likes to think he makes up for it with enthusiasm and from the noises Derek is making, he’s probably not wrong. His fingers tighten on Derek’s shoulders when Derek sucks gently, nipping at his mouth.

It's only when Stiles hears a rustling that he wrenches himself loose to look over his shoulder. Erica's sprawled out on the bed, mostly naked and smirking at them. "Don't mind me," she says airily, "please." Stiles almost laughs at her tone. "You know," she continues, "I used to fantasize about you going down on me." Stiles swallows when her expression turns predatory and she crawls up the bed, towards them. "But I think watching you go down on him might be even better." 

Stiles gulps in a breath at the image, and he can feel Derek tensing under him. "You like that idea, huh," he quips, his voice slightly breathy. Derek doesn't reply so much as tilt his hips, brushing their cocks together, and Stiles grunts, his head falling forward on Derek's collarbone at the sensation. "I'm not—" he stutters, trying to steady himself. "I'm not an expert on the matter."

He can feel Erica's hands sliding up his thighs, cupping his ass briefly, before curling around his hips, pulling him back gently. "Don't worry," she whispers in his ear, "I am."

Stiles chuckles, his voice teetering and small. "I hope I measure up."

Erica pauses for a second and then makes a considering noise, curling her fingers around his chin and tilting his head to look him in the eyes. "Stiles," she says seriously, smiling slightly, "you're not here because we wanted somebody here. You're here because we wanted _you_ here. Nobody else. Okay?" She looks at him imploringly and Stiles feels himself nod. And he believes it too, is the weird thing. Because this is Erica and Derek, they could have anybody they wanted. But she planned it. She wanted him. And judging from Derek's behavior, so did he.

"You totally planned this, didn't you?" Stiles says accusingly. "We didn't have a choice."

In the blink of an eye, Erica's expression goes from serious to dirty again. "You didn't want a choice, Stiles, there's a difference. I just... helped things along a little bit."

"Again with the nudging."

"Exactly," she says cheerfully. "Now that we have that heart-to-heart out of the way—" Stiles squeaks when she slaps him on the ass. "Get to it, and let me tell you exactly how to please your man."

Stiles smiles briefly and slides down the bed, looking up at Derek, knowing there's a question in his expression. Derek's expression is still dark, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips now. "She's... not wrong," he admits, and Stiles feels himself smile even wider.

"Well," he says. "Okay then." 

Erica chuckles next to him, and curls their fingers together. "Now," she says suggestively, "the first thing you need to know is that he really likes it when you touch him, but gently." She slides both their hands underneath the waistband of Derek's boxers and Derek hisses, his whole body jerking when they curl their fingers around the shaft. Stiles breathes in sharply when he feels Derek's dick twitching in his hands. 

It feels. Strange, but not really. A bit like his own, actually, and doesn't that make Stiles' dick jump, thinking about jerking himself off at a time like this. The skin is soft and velvety, and he moves his hand up and down experimentally, grinning when Derek gasps like he can't get enough air in his lungs.

Erica laughs, untangling her hand, and pulls Derek's boxers off in one clean pull. "Taking initiative, Stiles, I like that in a man." She slides her hand up Stiles' thigh, dipping briefly between his legs but pulling away, much to his frustration. "Don't worry, we'll get to that." She laughs wickedly, gesturing her head to the top of the bed where Derek is now watching the both of them with dark eyes, his mouth open and lips wet. "I'm sure he'd be happy to help once we loosen him up a bit, don't you?"

Stiles bites his lip and nods, leaning back a little to look at the picture in front of him. Derek's cock is. Well, it's not huge, not exactly, but it's bigger than his own. It's hard, glistening at the top, flushed and red all over. He's still gently moving his hand up and down, just him now. Stiles feels his mouth go dry at the idea of putting his mouth on it.

"What you want to do," Erica murmurs in his ear, "is twist your fingers a little on the upstroke, swipe them over the head, exactly like that, yeah." Her voice is breathy and low, all amusement from earlier forgotten. Stiles can feel her hands wandering up and down his skin restlessly.

Derek groans when Stiles increases the pressure and the tempo. "See," she says, "I told you he liked that. Especially when he's tied up, when all he can do is hang there and let you do whatever you want to him."

"Jesus," Stiles whispers, mostly to himself, and Erica smiles into his neck.

"What do you want to do to him, Stiles?"

Stiles moans a little under his breath and without a word, leans forward and takes an experimental lick at the head of Derek's cock. 

Without warning, Derek growls loudly, body going taut against the chains, his hips jerking up, missing Stiles' mouth by only an inch. Erica laughs, swats Derek, and then shifts upward, resting her arms on his hips. "I'll hold him down, don't worry. Wouldn't want him to scare you off."

Stiles sucks in a breath. "I don't scare easily," he forces out.

"I've noticed," Derek says, his voice rough. Stiles doesn't even want to think about what this is doing to Derek for his voice to sound that way. 

He leans down again before he starts thinking too much and takes another lick, this time licking down the side as well. Erica makes an approving noise.

"Good. Put your hand around the base, Stiles, spread the friction a little, that's it, good boy." Stiles groans against Derek's cock, resisting the urge to rub himself off with his other hand. He wants to, desperately so, but this'll be over before it's even started if he does.

Erica's still talking, but Stiles can barely hear what she's saying over the roaring in his ears. Derek's tense beneath him, panting heavily —because of him, he thinks dazedly. He did this.

He licks back up and breathes in through his nose, tentatively sinking his mouth over the entire head of Derek's cock, trying to swirl his tongue at the same time. It doesn't work very well, but judging from the ragged noises escaping Derek's throat and the way he's shuddering under Erica's hands, it does the job.

Suddenly there's a hand in his hair, trailing down the side of his face while he attempts to sink lower. "You're doing so good, Stiles, doing so good, can you feel how close he already is? It usually takes him so much longer than this." She pauses briefly and Stiles feels her tongue tracing the shell of his ear, making him shiver.

"Now," she whispers, "suck."

He does, and above them, Derek howls.

When he stops, Stiles is still mouthing at the head of his dick, trying to cover as much of it as possible while his hand drifts down to the skin between Derek's cock and his balls. Erica's still nuzzling him, making approving noises, but Derek growls.

"Stop," he forces out, "Stiles, I— Stop."

Stiles freezes, and only manages to relax when the expression on Derek's face softens by a tiny degree. "Erica," he says carefully, eyes still boring into Stiles. "Unchain me. Now."

She doesn't hesitate or laugh this time, just gets up from the bed and digs the keys out of the nightstand. Derek doesn't even bother to look at her, just nods. "Thank you," he says, and then leans forward to yank Stiles into his lap, crushing their mouths together once again.

"You have no idea," Derek murmurs, bite-kissing his way down Stiles' jaw, "what you look like doing that, do you?"

Stiles groans, digging his fingers into Derek's shoulders. "I don't know," he gasps out. "Maybe you ought to tell me." 

"Filthy," Erica says, plastering herself up against his back and suckling on the skin of his shoulders.

"Really fucking filthy," Derek agrees hoarsely.

Stiles' head is spinning. He's surrounded on both sides by two very hot people and they won't stop touching him. He sucks in a few desperate gasps and lands his head on Derek's shoulder when someone, he doesn't even know who, bites down on his skin.

He's going to be covered in bite marks after this. How is this is life?

He's pretty sure he could have come just from that, just from being sandwiched between them and the friction and the kissing, but then a hand drifts lower and curls around his cock, and Stiles is pretty sure he can see stars explode behind his eyelids.

"Please," he moans, jerking his hips uncontrollably. "Oh God, Derek, please." He doesn't even know what he's begging for, but Derek seems to because he shudders and moves them somehow.

"I got you," he murmurs and then he does something with his hands and moves his hips. Stiles groans when he can feel two sets of hands between them, two sets of hands on his cock. 

"You're—God, you're going to kill me," he gasps.

Behind him Erica laughs, tweaking her fingers in some complicated rhythm that makes Stiles shudder and groan. "But what a way to go, right?" she's saying, but Stiles can't answer. He can't do anything with the vague twitch of amusement her words bring up, because Derek's hips are jerking, their hands moving around what he's pretty sure is both their cocks, and Stiles just can't.

He's lost in the sensation, his fingers clenched around Derek's shoulders. Desperate and breathy whimpers escape his ragged throat without his permission. "Please," he forces out. " _Derek_."

One of Derek's hand comes up to thumb at his nipple, his fingers wet from what Stiles knows is his own precome. He has more stamina than this, he’s sure of it, but he's been hard pretty much from the moment he laid eyes on Derek and he can feel his orgasm spiraling up inside him, can feel his body tensing up.

"Come on, Stiles," someone is murmuring in his ear. "Let go." 

And with a sob, Stiles spills himself over their combined hands.

Derek is still moving when his brain comes back online, desperate grunts slipping past his lips while he jerks in their lap. Stiles moans when their cocks catch on each other, too sensitive, too intense, too much. He bats the mass of hands away and inches back slightly, curling his hand around Derek's cock.

He huffs out a laugh when Erica's fingers tangle up with his within seconds. "Can't stay away?"

"What can I say," she hums in his ear, "I like to take part in the action."

Derek is moaning every few strokes now, thrusting his hips up in time with Stiles' hands. He's loud, not holding anything back, and it makes something hot twist up in Stiles' gut. It's intoxicating, seeing Derek this undone, especially knowing he's the one that caused it.

"Stiles," Derek groans, his hands twisted in the sheets beneath them in a white-knuckled grip. "Stiles."

Stiles shivers at Derek's voice, hoarse and raw and curled around the syllables of his name. Behind him he can feel Erica shift and then her hand snakes lower, following the crease of Derek’s thighs. He knows what her hands are doing down there, but he can't focus on anything but Derek's face now.

His eyes are open, dark and heavy-lidded and heated and Stiles can't stop himself from surging forward and kissing Derek. He's unbalanced, neither of his hands able to support him, but Derek loosens his grip on the sheets and wraps his arms around Stiles' shoulders, fitting them together carefully; hip, chest, mouth.

Derek kisses the way he does everything else, with intent to finish what he started. Stiles can feel himself getting lightheaded from sensory overload. Erica's still behind him, dotting his shoulders and back with kisses and licks, while her hands are on Derek and Derek is underneath the both of them, twisting and thrusting. 

Derek groans when Stiles rubs his thumb repeatedly over the head of Derek's cock, wrenching his mouth loose and thumping his head back against the headboard. His back is arched and Stiles takes a minute to stare at the picture he makes before dropping his head on Derek's collarbone, latching on to the as-of-yet unmarked skin.

"Stiles," Derek whines out, "Stiles, fuck, I'm gonna— I can't—"

Stiles doesn't say anything but speeds up his strokes and turns his head, sucking the skin of Derek's neck into his mouth and biting down. Derek tenses under them, every muscle in his body rigid, before letting out a drawn-out cry and coming.

Stiles has to stop himself from huffing out a laugh when Derek almost immediately unclenches his grip. "We're stuck together from all the ways we just gave each other orgasms and you're worried about accidentally bruising me?"

Derek flicks his fingers against Stiles’ skin before pushing him back, looking him over. "You okay?"

Stiles nods, shifting off to the side and tentatively leaning against Derek. He’s always suspected Derek was a secret cuddler but— Stiles suppresses a snort and triumphant fist pump when Derek immediately tucks the two of them together. 

"I'm fine," he says honestly, nudging Derek gently. He knows he's mimicking Erica's words from the other night, and Derek knows it too, if the way he's gone still is any indication.

There's a moment when they're just looking at each other, eyes darkening, and Stiles can feel Derek's fingers tightening again, can hear the uptick in his own pulse, his breathing.

It's broken when there's a rustle and a laugh from behind them. "I hate to break up the start of round two there," Erica says, "but some of us haven't had the pleasure of those orgasms yet."

In the blink of an eye, Derek has inched forward and yanked Erica closer, until she's practically sitting in his lap.

"You," he says, voice low, "are in trouble."

Erica bats her eyelashes at him, smirking. "Oh, am I? Whatever for?"

She bites her lip when one of Derek's hands trails from her wrists to her abdomen, circling her breast. Stiles blinks, trying to decide if he should look away or not, if this is some kind of pack thing. But he's still half-tangled with Derek on the bed, and he's pretty sure that if Derek didn't want him to see, he wouldn't be doing this.

"You know what for," Derek murmurs, dragging his hand down her abdomen to the V between her legs. "You were out of line."

She gasps, closing her eyes. "I didn't—" She grunts when Derek thumbs her clit, biting her lip. "I didn't see you complaining. Or Stiles."

"That's not the point and you know it."

The look in her eyes when she opens them is downright filthy. "You going to punish me, Derek? Put me in my place?" She asks, knowingly.

This time Stiles is the one who sucks in a breath, but it's overpowered by the sound of Derek humming thoughtfully and Erica letting out a tiny whimper when Derek slides two fingers in her without warning. Stiles breathes in carefully and tries to control himself, but his head is foggy and he can already feel his dick taking an interest in the proceedings, however half-heartedly.

"Maybe," Derek says. "You definitely deserve it. Maybe I should leave you hanging, hmm? Tease you until you can't take it anymore, and then just... stop." His hand is moving rhythmically, fingers sliding inside, counterpointed by regularly pressing down on her clit. Erica moans, eyes squeezed close again. Stiles would be surprised at how close she seems, except she's been here the whole time and he knows he'd be getting off pretty fast if he'd just been watching since the beginning. 

"Derek," she half-sighs, half-cries out, her hand going down to join his, only to be batted away immediately. She groans in disappointment and grinds herself down on his fingers. "You— You've proven your, ah— your point."

"Have I?" Derek's smirking, Stiles can tell even if he can't see Derek's face; and doesn't that bring on all sorts of pleasant reminders, watching Derek as Erica fucks herself down on his fingers.

It's not like Stiles doesn't know what Derek's doing, because he does. He's not pissed at Erica, not really, but she went around him, she probably even ignored a direct order, and Derek can't just let that pass.

"I'm not sure I have, really. I think you could take some more. What do you think, Stiles?" The look Derek shoots him over his shoulder is both amused and hot. Stiles has to steady himself when he gets up and plasters himself over Derek's shoulder, leaning in.

"I think," he says to Erica, "that what he really needs is for you to tell him it won't happen again."

Erica actually manages to roll her eyes at them. Derek slips in another finger in retaliation, amping up the tempo, and she shudders. "Of course it won't, _fuck_ ," she forces out. "The whole point of this was to get the two of you together." 

Stiles hides his grin (and embarrassment, Jesus, had he been that obvious?) by pressing his face into Derek's skin. Christ, he's not even surprised, crazy bitch that she is.

Derek has slowed down and Erica's whining with every stroke, struggling to get closer, to get more friction. "What do you think, Stiles," he asks, "enough punishment?"

Stiles pretends to think for a minute and laughs when Erica curses at him. "Well, her intentions were good."

Wordlessly, Derek curls his fingers and moves his thumb up to rub her clit repeatedly. Erica whines, throws her head back, her voice going higher and higher. She's swearing under her breath, tossing together words and expletives and sounds, writhing down on Derek's fingers in movements Stiles is pretty sure human spines aren't capable of.

"Never again, Erica," Derek says, his voice steel.

She shakes her head erratically. "No, never, I won't, I promise, fuck, Derek, please!"

Derek nods and with a few final strokes, Erica cries out her release. 

*

The bedroom is dark when Stiles’ eyes flutter open. He lifts his head and looks around groggily. The last thing he remembers is Erica slumping forward onto Derek and Derek slumping backwards onto him and… Yep, judging from the tangle of limbs and sheets, it's pretty obvious they fell asleep.

There’s more rustling, and Stiles twists slightly only to see Erica shoot him a brief, soft smile and slipping out of the room.

Derek grunts when Stiles untangles himself none too gently, but Stiles doesn’t let it deter him. He’s still groggy and sleepy and at least a little bit basking in the afterglow of losing his virginity in a threesome, take that Jackson ‘you’re going to be a virgin forever, Stilinski.’ Whittemore. The point is, Stiles is feeling more confident than he has in a long time, and he’s pretty sure if he lets Erica slip away, he’s never going to have the courage to bring the subject up again.

He still has to locate his boxers, which is why she’s almost out the door when he catches up. She’s still smiling, curled up in what Stiles recognizes as one of Boyd’s hoodies, but it’s so unlike any other smile he’s seen on her face in the last few weeks, it actually makes him blink.

“You should get back in there,” she gestures.

Stiles shakes his head, trying to clear it at least a little bit. “I’m not sure what the protocol is in this situation,” he admits. “Should I invite you too?”

Erica laughs out loud at that, genuinely amused. “That’s really sweet of you, but I think I’ll pass.”

Stiles resists the urge to look down at his feet and shivers slightly. Damn, it’s cold out here. Erica rolls her eyes and gently pushes him back. “Get back inside, Stilinski. You’ll catch your death out here.”

“Thanks,” Stiles blurts out.

There’s that gentle smile again. “You’re welcome,” she says. “And I’m sorry about. You know.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s probably for the better. I don’t think we’d have—“

“No,” she agrees. “You really wouldn’t have. Ever. You really have a gift for pining from afar, Stiles.” She’s mocking him, but it doesn’t sting. Stiles knows she doesn’t mean it.

“Yeah well.” He shrugs again and gestures in the vague direction of the bed and Derek, as if that explains everything. Which, come to think of it, it kind of does.

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment where they’re both completely silent, and then Stiles forces himself to look her in the eyes. “Seriously. Thank you,” he says, trying to put everything he’s feeling into the words.

Erica looks at him briefly and nods. She leans in and kisses him softly, lingering. When she steps back, she’s laughing again, and Stiles is hard-pressed to stop himself from smiling back.

“I won’t lie, I’m a little bummed out it’s never going to happen again,” she grins, “but seriously. You’re welcome. Now get back inside.” 

She’s already turned her back and is walking away when Stiles speaks up. “Hey, Erica?” He grins at her questioning look. “There’s always special occasions.” 

Derek’s awake when Stiles climbs back in the bed, though his eyes are closed and his breathing is even. Stiles hesitates by the side of the bed, blushing when Derek cracks open an eye and shoots him a look. He shifts to the side and Stiles crawls into the open space, taking it for the invitation it is and settling himself against Derek.

“Erica okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers thoughtfully. “Diabolical, but okay.” Derek huffs out an amused laugh and Stiles grins. 

There’s a slight hesitation and then... “Are you okay?”

They’re pressed so tightly together, Stiles can feel every tense muscle of Derek’s body. He’s tempted to swat over his shoulder, but it’s probably every bit as bad an idea as it sounds, so he settles for nodding and relaxing.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to put all his contentment and happiness in three words. “I’m great.”

Derek’s not good with words, which comes as a surprise to absolutely nobody, so Stiles knows better than to make him talk about how he’s already asked that question and gotten an affirmative answer. He won’t mention Derek’s secret (not-so-secret) insecurities and hang-ups over relationships, won’t even think of going anywhere near the subject of Kate and any other previous relationships.

Frankly, Stiles smiles to himself, it’s pretty much a miracle they’re even here and for once in his life, he is not pressing his luck. He’s going to relax, sleep for a few hours, untangle himself and probably speed home in order to make it to his own bed before his Dad gets home.

Oh, he’s not an idiot and knows better than to delude himself. There are freak-outs in his future and probably shouting matches with at least three different people (Derek, his Dad, probably Scott... is he missing anyone?), but it’s late and he’s tired and it’s really not worth stressing over already.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbles in Derek’s general direction when the tension doesn’t disappear. 

Derek snorts, relaxing slowly. “Did we finally find a subject Stiles Stilinski isn’t willing to talk to death?”

“Dude,” Stiles says, “I just lost my virginity by having mind-blowing sex with you _and_ Erica. At the same time. All I want to do right now is bask.” He pauses. “And possibly sleep until the absolute latest I can get away with and still make it home on time.”

Derek tugs him closer and Stiles smiles to himself. He’s almost asleep when Derek speaks up again, voice blurry with sleep and amusement.

“Special occasions, huh?”

Stiles smirks. “Shut up, I’m basking.” 

He's pretty sure he can still feel Derek’s smile pressed into the back of his neck when he finally falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with bonus graphic by [shercocklocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shercocklocked/pseuds/shercocklocked), which can be found [here](http://shercocklocked.tumblr.com/post/40973005859)! _So_ pretty.


End file.
